The Death of Marcus Aurelius

The Death of Marcus Aurelius

Sunday, May 31, 2020

Musonius Rufus, Lectures 10.7


And I might mention many other men who have experienced insult, some wronged by word, others by violence and bodily harm, who do not appear to have defended their rights against their assailants nor to have proceeded against them in any other way, but very meekly bore their wrong.

If you are interested in hearing about those who have only made a grand show of not being offended, I certainly can’t provide you with that; that sort of display would defeat the whole purpose of bearing wrong, and would instead turn it into an exercise of seeming the victim.

As much as I might try to lie to myself, I know my own worst motives all too well. Why am I drawing attention to myself? Is it really about being better, or even about being a witness to what is better, or is it just about appearing better to everyone else?

The intention makes so much of a difference.

I could, however, tell you about a boy I knew in Cub Scouts, who liked collecting and drying flowers, and accordingly found himself ridiculed at every turn. He never complained or cursed back. He would also offer kind words to people, precisely when no one else was looking.

I sadly do not know what became of him, and I have even forgotten his name.

I could tell you about another fellow I taught with in the early years, who was committed to having his middle school students learn about Euclid’s Elements. Some of the children did not like the difficulty involved in these lessons, especially the loud and spoiled ones, and before I knew it all the complaints from irate parents had gotten him demoted to a desk job.

I eventually told him that I felt guilty for not supporting him more, and I will never forget the generous way he shook his head and smiled. “Hey, I did what I thought was right, and they did what they thought was right.”

I could finally tell you about one of the janitors at a local church, a burly and jovial man who made it a point to bring a cup of hot coffee and a fresh donut to absolutely anyone who walked up to the rectory door. The parish council did not approve, since they claimed it attracted that undesirable element of poor and homeless folks.

After having worked there for a decade, the pastor fired him. The last time I saw him, he winked at me. “I’ve never known a man to be worse from a good cup of coffee!”

I often think of something my father told me long ago, that “tolerating” doesn’t mean stubbornly or begrudgingly putting up with something we don’t like, but that it means taking the weight of others upon ourselves, to literally bear or carry them. He knew his Latin, so I could hardly object.

“He ain’t heavy. He’s my brother.”

Your own mileage may certainly vary, but my father also reminded me that this was exactly what Christ did when he was burdened by hauling his own Cross.

Some would insist that turning the other cheek is a sign of weakness, of not standing up for what we want.

Perhaps it could also be a sign of strength, of caring with such depth that we can find meaning in how we accept the wrongs of others for ourselves, of finding a way to transform that hatred into love.

Perhaps by trying to be the best that we can be, we can also inspire others to be the best that they can be.

Dictionaries may define Stoicism as being unemotional, and they may define meekness as being submissive. That is unfortunate.

Written in 10/1999


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